Less of a random killing machine, more of a personal statement
by xXxWeatherbyxXx
Summary: This is featuring Skyfall's lovely Quartermaster, need I say more?
1. I'm your new Quartermaster

This fanfiction will incorporate most genres, hopefully- romance, comedy, drama. Plot can also go everywhere, so I really appreciate your ideas. This fanfiction can be controlled by the reader if I get enough reviews, go for it :) Just thought it would be fun!  
I don't own Skyfall, but I wish I did. **As always, please review, It makes my day to hear your responses :)**

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So, he'd recently come into contact with the man himself, 007. First impressions? The agent seemed like an arrogant toy-boy, and Q was certain the gun he'd spent countless hours developing would not be returned in one piece. See? 007 must of irritated him. He didn't even know what toy-boy meant! Yet, it fitted. He just assumed it wasn't exactly flattering. Huh. Now he thought about it, what did it mean...? _Clickety clickety click..._

A few clicks away he'd located a description on an 'Urban Dictionary': **A male used specifically by females for pleasure and fun when their husband or boyfriend is not giving them enough.**

Huh. Suited Bond Perfectly.

"...um, Sir?"  
An young intern holding a stack of paper was frowning confusedly, peering over his shoulder. Oh, Good Lord.

Eyes widening, Q slammed his laptop shut. He then realised he'd had a few exceedingly important documents open, and desperately hoped they would survive this unscathed. He adjusted his glasses, and fruitlessly tried to act casual.

"Yes? What is it? I'm a busy man!" He snapped. Hm, poor choice of words.

The poor intern set the files carefully on his desk, explaining their purpose shakily, then nervously bidding him goodbye. Wonderful, just wonderful! Now his interns would decide to spread an office rumour that their Quartermaster was interested in becoming a toy-boy for the sexually deprived. Wonderful.

After a few moments, he left his post when he heard a number of staff computers were broken beyond repair. People claimed they'd tried everything, that they were at their wits end. Q had been more empathetic with the poor laptops in their care. He'd then realised that they hadn't even pressed the button at the front which turned the damn thing on! And as he turned to leave, he caught sight of them googling 'Funny cat pictures'. Were these really trained members of MI6?

Could this day get any worse? Yes. He opened the laptop up again, grimacing when he saw that all of his work had indeed been deleted. He'd have to start from scratch, and he was running out of Earl Grey teabags in the staff room. Q pinched the bridge of his nose, adjusted his tie, then inhaled sharply. He mustn't lose his temper or M would complain about his lack of professionalism. Q took a large gulp of tea from his scrabble cup, shook his hands to loosen any cramps in his fingers, then set to work typing again.

The rest of the evening was spent this way. Most would consider it to be tedious and boring, but not Q. Oh no, he lived for challenges. There was no better feeling in the world than a task well completed. Slightly sad? Oh well. As he made his way through reception, a group of interns waved fakely. The instant he turned his back, they started to giggle like children. "Toy-boy...really...?"

Q rolled his eyes. These were the people responsible for protecting British security? With that thought in consideration, he wasn't sure he'd feel safe in his bed that night. "Why don't I just shoot myself now?" He mumbled lightly under his breath. Q had been prevented from receiving his 'full dosage' of Earl Grey tea that evening, restricted to five mugs. Five mugs! It was a crime. He hailed a taxi, stumbling inside with his laptop pressed protectively against his chest.


	2. What did you expect, an exploding pen?

**Please review! Feedback is very appreciated! :)**

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Was he cursed today? Or was he just grumpy due to sleep deprivation and Earl Grey deprivation?

When he returned home, he realized that he was late for a family commitment. Right, now his Mother would be out for his blood; though when she wasn't seeking to destroy all of humanity with her terrible cooking, she was a reasonable woman. Q's Father was rarely seen, he spent most of his time in the study listening to his old fashioned radio. Q was nothing like the man, who constantly complained that technology was a bad thing, that the 'interwhatsit' was causing youngsters to run rampant in the streets.

The time was 10 o'clock, perhaps he'd be lucky enough to avoid exchanging fake pleasantries with his sister's thick boyfriend. Honestly, the thought that his sister found that gorilla attractive would forever baffle him.

Q quickly changed into a new set of clothes, which were similar to the first. He always dressed in smart attire- 'Geek sheek' as his sister would put it. Of course, he'd instantly googled the term. He glanced in the mirror, and took a few deep breaths, mentally preparing himself for a family affair.

By the time he'd left the house and arrived at his parents' home, it was half past 10. Q fruitlessly tried to seem sorry, but the apology passed his lips with smugness. He turned to his Mother, a short woman, but she wasn't any less threatening just because he towered over her.  
"Mother, I have a good explanation- Ow! What was that for?" Q was cut off, his Mother smacking him roughly on the head. His sister, Elenor, was perched at the dinner table with a glass of red wine in her hand. He whined childishly, narrowing his eyes when he heard his sister's trademark giggle.

"You don't have time to be watching me...keep an eye on that gorilla of yours, he could be swinging off of the chandeliers by now..." He mumbled softly, smirking once he realised his sister had indeed caught the comment.

Elenor glared, laughing fakely and bitterly. "And where was _your_ girlfriend, exactly?"

"Non-existent, but If I did have a girlfriend, at least she'd of evolved properly. Your romantically involved with the missing link." He commented, rising to pour himself a glass of water. He was not a drinker, goodness knows what he could be like when drunk.

Elenor gasped, letting out an irritated squeal. "You've gone too far this time!"

Q drummed his fingers idly against the table, setting his glass down. "But I have to give you some credit, dear sister of mine. I've heard you taught him how to count, 1-5 was it? Well done. And one day, he'll learn to walk upright."

His sister hissed a string of curses, calling her boyfriend into the room. Ah. It seemed 'the gorilla' had heard the entire conversation. He also seemed far more intimidating than Q last remembered. A fight took place, if it could be described as a fight. Q threw a few weak punches, and received a nasty black eye. The man fought mammoths, how could he ever stand a chance?

By the time he got home, his family network was buzzing, and he was getting humiliating texts and phone calls from distant relatives. Q loosely pulled his tie down his neck, flopping limply on the mattress, sighing dramatically. Despite the terrible throbbing sensation in his left eye, he managed to drift off to sleep.

Not a good day.


	3. Youth Is No Guarantee Of Innovation

**Please review, no matter how simplistic it is! Two words is even okay, as long as its a review! I'd love for my followers to give me ideas (Now I'm starting to sound like a cult!)- I can only really continue if I know people are enjoying it. Thank you! xD**

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Q woke unpleasantly the next morning, his phone buzzing on the little table next to his bed. He mumbled his complaint, black-eye pounding painfully. Awkward memories of the fight he'd caused the evening before came rushing back. He'd already received multiple empathetic texts from his two senile Aunts, Dora and Dorine; who were convinced he was still 14 years old, highly humiliating. However, this morning would be everything but mundane. At about 11 o'clock, he received a message from the man himself, James Bond.

Judging by the punctuation used in his email, he was panicking, therefore unable to concentrate on the many spelling errors. It took Q a moment to understand, and he found himself correcting the email as he read. He didn't take in what the email was actually telling him, and had to re-read the block of text.

**Q**  
**As much as it pains me to say, I am in need of your assistance. I don't want to seem scared, but I have a daughter! Yes, it seems completely insane to me too. Apparently, I met a woman at a Italian villa twenty-ish years ago, and...well, I won't bore you with the details. But the bloody woman has clearance into MI6! I can't cope at the moment, I need you to occupy her. Only for a day, just until I clear everything up.**  
**Bond**

Clear everything up? What in the world did that mean? He didn't even know this woman's name! He wasn't exactly a 'lady killer'. Of course, it was to be expected that Bond had at least one child; he slept with practically every eligible woman he encountered. He was bound to have many STD's and at least one child in every country on the planet! Alright, perhaps he was overreacting. Drumming his fingers against the desk, he awaited the mystery woman.

When she wandered casually into his office, he was hurriedly typing on his laptop. A familiarly silky voice with a hint of Italian met his ears.

"Matty? Is that you?"

Only one woman called him 'Matty' besides his Mother. Nobody used his full name, even in the form of a nickname. MI6 dealt with secrecy. This was someone he recalled very vividly, he'd had no idea she was the daughter of the infamous James Bond! Her name was Roselle Costa, and they had quite a history. She was beautiful, there was no denying that, a blind man could see it. Her skin retained a faltering olive complexion, and her long black hair was perfectly styled and curled, framing her face. This was his ex-fiance, a woman of style and money. In essence, this meant Q had once been a Bond-girl.

"Don't call me that...Miss Costa. Or is it Mrs now?" Q cleared his throat awkwardly, tone full of professionalism.

Roselle let out a tiny giggle, and perched on his desk, swinging her legs back and forth over the side. Q could already tell the interns were staring, their jaws probably hitting the floor. "No, no, far too busy. There aren't many geeky English boys in Italy, it seems I've developed a type. No wedding ring, your single?"

"Yes, there aren't many egocentric Italian women nearby," He mumbled softly.

Q grabbed a handful of curly brown hair, tugging nervously. Her Father was 007! How could he possibly attempt to hide the fact that he'd slept with James Bond's daughter? Oh God, out of all the women in the world...

"As I'm babysitting you, lets get something clear- do not tell your Father what relation we have. I don't want to get chemically castrated Rose! He will kill me! Every Father can't stand someone else meddling with their daughter," He demanded.

"Meddling?" She raised her brows, wearing an amused smirk. "Oh, its Rose now? Well, Matty, that does sound like fun..."  
Q growled frustratedly, narrowing his eyes.

"Alright, alright, I'll keep my mouth shut." Roselle promised. That would be a first. "Honestly though, life has been busy. I was arrested, then I bought an entirely new wardrobe! I had to tell my stylist that-" She started to ramble, when Q cut her off.

"You were arrested?"

Roselle didn't seem to find that as important as her beauty regime, examining her painted red nails.

"Yes. I happened to hack into the bank account of Queen Silvia Of Sweden...the matter was resolved relatively quickly, I explained that it was a perfectly innocent mistake."

"How could you _accidently_ hack into someone's bank account?"

"Look, for the right price, a murderer could become a King in this world. If the world wasn't a terrible place, then where would I be right now?" The woman drawled. Q found it all awfully depressing sometimes, there seemed to be little justice, not that he particularly wanted Roselle to spend the remainder of her life in prison.


End file.
